


Here

by jiffyfetch



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:53:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiffyfetch/pseuds/jiffyfetch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian has a depressive episode. Mickey reassures him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here

**Author's Note:**

> I was having a lot of anxiety about my own life & tendency to isolate due to depression. Naturally, I channeled all of that into trite shameless fanfic.

The door of their apartment is the loudest, shittiest door in the entire world. It creaks and bangs and in the summer it gets stuck, refusing to open for hours. Whenever the Chicago heat passes 85, they would leave the window open and crawl through it to get inside - not an easy feat for a basement apartment. Still, they had been robbed twice, leading Mickey to decide that they needed a guard dog.

The dog was curled up in bed with Ian when he heard the telltale creaking of the front door. Mickey banged around, dropping his keys on the table and cursing loudly at the door, which was starting to stick in the 82 degree weather.

Ian ignored the heat and buried himself further beneath the blankets, knowing the Mickey would come looking for him.

"Fiona wants to see you," Mickey yells from the kitchen. Ian can hear him rooting around in the fridge as he continues, "Something about Debbie's prom? I didn't know there even was a prom on the fucking South Side. Ian? You home?"

The dog, named Ziggy as a joke that unfortunately stuck, jumped off the bed and over to the kitchen, no doubt begging Mickey for scraps.

"Where's Ian?" Mickey asks, as if Ziggy will answer him. Ian wishes he could find that funny; his humor is gone.

There are three rooms in their apartment: the kitchen, where Mickey is now. The living room, which the door opens right into. And the bedroom, where Ian is hidden away, pretending not to exist. It's not much of a mystery.

"Hey, Gallagher," Mickey jokes, good mood not yet shaken, "rise and shine."

Ian still hasn't said anything at all, hoping that eventually Mickey will take a hint and leave him alone. He should have known how unlikely that was.

"You okay? Ian?" Mickey pushes the covers off. Ian covers his face with his hands and curls into a ball. He can hear Mickey's frown.

"Ian. Talk to me."

"Fuck off," Ian finally says, deciding that Mickey is  _not_  taking a hint after all.

"What's wrong?" Mickey sinks down onto the bed next to him, reaching out to put a hand on Ian's shoulder.

"Nothing. Just go away."

"I'm not going away until you talk to me, asshole," Mickey insists. He tries to push Ian into something that resembles sitting up and fails spectacularly.

"Just leave me alone, okay?" Ian asks, pushing Mickey's hands off of him.

"Ian." It's more of a whisper this time, Mickey sounding genuinely scared. "Ian, what happened?"

"Nothing happened!" Ian yells. He feels Mickey pull away. _Good,_ Ian thinks.  _Good, get out while you can._ But he doesn't. Mickey forces himself to stay on the bed, to move a little closer to Ian. He doesn't say anything, just looks.

"Nothing happened," Ian says again, quieter this time. "That's the problem."

Mickey says nothing, waiting for him to continue. Ian's not sure if he can. Zippy comes back into the bedroom. He seems to sense the tension, senses Ian's sadness and frustration. He climbs into Ian's lap, warming him and giving him the courage to continue.

"I've done everything right," Ian says, feeling angry tears begin to well up and pushing them away. "I take all of my meds, I exercise, I go to fucking therapy. Everything's okay and then nothing happens and I feel like shit again. And it's going to keep happening. I'm going to keep getting sad and staying in bed and not talking to you because I'm fucked up."

"So?" Mickey asks.

"So?" Ian echoes, starting to get pissed off. "So leave me alone. Go somewhere else. Don't waste your time."

"Ian, stop. You can't just push me away. I've been through too much - we've been through too much - for that."

Ian snorts. "Don't give me that shit."

"Fuck you, Ian," Mickey growls. "So you have a shitty day. You could have a month of shitty days - you could have a shitty year, I don't care. I'm gonna be there, being a pain in your ass and making sure you take your meds and feeding you soup or whatever. I'm not leaving, you dick."

"Why?" Ian hears the whine in his voice, hears how pathetic it is, and asks anyway.

"What do you mean why? I love you you fucking idiot." Mickey laughs, looking down at Ian's face. He seems to sense that Ian needs more, needs an explanation. "I get that you think you're some kind of burden when you're like this, or when you're manic. But you're not. Sure, I'd rather have  _my_ Ian, but Depressed Ian and Manic Ian are still Ian. And my Ian is worth those Ians. I love you no matter what, even when you stay in bed for ten days and start to smell."

"I don't get it." Ian isn't trying to be difficult, he really doesn't get it. He doesn't get why Mickey would want to be with him when he smells or doesn't smell, whether he gets out of bed or not.

Mickey shrugs. "Maybe I don't really get it either. I could leave, could go find some other piece of ass who's perfectly healthy and who doesn't make me move into an apartment down the street from his family's house. But I don't want to. I want to stay here, and crawl through the stupid window when it's hot and watch Liam on Thursday nights and come home to you burning dinner and take care of you when you need me. This is what I want. The bad stuff is worth the good stuff." He shakes his head, laughing at himself. "You're making me sound like a pansy."

"I'm sorry," Ian whispers, letting himself move closer to Mickey.

"The fuck are you sorry for?" Mickey pulls him close, resting Ian's head in his lap and running his fingers through Ian's hair.

"I don't know," Ian admits.

"Well, don't be. I'm happy." Mickey laughs and gently moves Ian's head off of him, standing up and stretching. "I am gonna be sorry if I don't go find Fiona, though. She was real determined about that prom shit."

"Do I have to do something?" Ian asks, still not ready to get up.

"No, I'll handle it," Mickey replies, brushing a kiss against Ian's forehead. "Go back to sleep."

Ian curls around Ziggy again, closing his eyes and drifting off. He wakes up an hour later as Mickey climbs in next to him, silently pulling Ian towards him. As he returns to sleep, Ian feels something through his day-long fog of numbness and fatigue. It's not happiness, really, not quite that simple. It's a good feeling though, something warm. Sort of like coming home. And while things aren't good, things could be a lot worse.


End file.
